Unlocking the door of the room in which Jake Tonkin had been confined, he was amazed and alarmed to see that it was no longer occupied. One of the iron bars across the window had been wrenched away after patient work in loosening the sockets, and the prisoner had dropped sixteen feet to the ground. Mr. Polwhele called up his housekeeper, whom he had forbidden to disclose Jake's whereabouts on pain of dismissal.
"You knew nothing of this, Mary?" he asked.
"No, indeed, sir. I neither heard un nor seed un."
"Well, say nothing about it. I want you to take a note for me at once to Doubledick at the inn. Put on your bonnet."
By the time the woman was ready, Mr. Polwhele had scribbled a brief note. "J. has escaped: don't wait."
"Be sure and give it to Doubledick himself," he said.
"Iss, I woll, sir," said the woman.
An hour afterwards Mr. Mildmay came up to the house.
"This is the worst slap in the face we have ever had, Polwhele," he said. "Why on earth didn't you collar Tonkin?"
"Why didn't you?" retorted the riding-officer angrily. "The cutter is for chasing luggers, not my horse."